


checks over stripes

by Anonymous



Category: The Boys (TV 2019)
Genre: Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Oral Fixation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:13:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26373259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: He doesn’t even think Homelander’s gay, he just likes having something in his mouth.
Relationships: The Deep | Kevin/The Homelander | John
Comments: 13
Kudos: 125
Collections: Anonymous





	checks over stripes

**Author's Note:**

> im writing this because i actually wanna give up on writing fanfic because i never get any comments so this is like my last ditch desperate attempt to get some feedback... love u all

“Deep!”

Somehow, the more it’s saturated with false cheer and jocularity, the further his heart rate skyrockets. Homelander knows this of course, and takes great and genuine pleasure in Deep’s apprehension.

He turns around, forcing himself to meet the other supe’s gaze. “Hey, Homelander, what’s up?”

They stop, face to face in the corridor. Homelander gives him this eerie smile. “I don’t know, buddy, you tell me. How are things?”

Deep swallows, hard. It’s going to be one of those conversations- a minefield he’ll inevitably offset when Homelander pounces on something he’s said, and twists it into justification for whatever sick torture he has in store. It’s at times like these that he viciously resents Starlight and her stupid tough bitch act, the way she acts like he’s scum of the earth for laying a hand on her, when that’s just how things work round here. She’s too fucking dimwitted to understand that the fish raping you is undoubtedly being raped by another, bigger fish. 

“I’m okay,” he ends up muttering, because he knows where this is going. He’s tired. He’ll do whatever Homelander says because the alternative involves injuries he can't afford to explain. 

“Oh, well- well that’s fantastic. That’s just great.”

They keep walking, up the stairs until they're standing on the roof, and Homelander comes to a stop; cutting him off from walking any farther. Conveniently, there is no one else around.

Deep folds his arms. He knows he looks defensive, but he also hopes he’s conveying impatience. This shit is getting so old. They both know what Homelander wants, so why do they always have to dance around it? Is he self conscious, or something? Jesus, fuck. The idea of Homelander being self conscious almost makes him snigger, and _that_ would be a mistake. 

“See, me not so much. I’ve had a real _shitty_ day.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“Wow, Deep,” Homelander frowns, comically exaggerated, mock hurt. “You don’t _sound_ very sorry. Am I boring you? Should I talk to somebody else?”

“No-”

Homelander throws him off the roof. For around thirty seconds, Deep is free falling, until he lands heavily into an uncomfortably familiar embrace. He’s panting and shaking, unable to catch his breath, fingers digging into Homelander’s arms. He hates heights. It feels so unnatural to be up in the sky, when he’s so used to being submerged in the sea. 

“That’s right,” Homelander croons. He pets through Deep’s hair, and at this stage, it could still be considered… brotherly, but Deep knows better. 

“Don’t ever look at me like I’m boring you,” the supe rasps. He has that wild glint in his eyes, almost as if they’re glowing. 

“Put me down,” Deep pleads. “You never bore me. I just wish you’d… tell me what you want.”

Homelander sets his jaw, mulling it over. Deep closes his eyes. He feels nauseous looking up into the atmosphere, nothing but his dear old colleague’s notorious generosity keeping him from falling to his death.

The supe flies him back onto the roof, setting him down gently and brushing imaginary dirt off his shoulders. “You know what I want,” he smiles. 

And Deep does know. He just can’t believe it. He assumed this was all in the spirit of psychological warfare, and one day Homelander would step it up to another level. But he never has. It’s always the same thing. 

“Up here?” he whispers. 

“Is there a problem with that?” Homelander tilts his head, taking a few steps forward to crowd into Deep’s space. “I can always take you downstairs, find us an audience.” 

Deep doesn’t even think he’s bluffing. In response, he pulls down his spandex; no point pretending this isn’t what they’re here for. He tries to force himself into the right mindset, so that this doesn’t go on any longer than it has to. He’s ashamed to admit he’s gotten pretty good at giving Homelander what he needs.

“You want me to sit, or…”

“Sit.”

He obliges immediately. Homelander sinks down with him, and wraps a hand around Deep’s flaccid cock. It’s beyond fortunate that Homelander doesn’t expect him to go into this with a raging boner, because firstly, Deep’s not a fag, and secondly, trying to get hard when you’re also fighting off a heart attack is pretty damn difficult.

Homelander puts his mouth on Deep’s cock, dragging his tongue over it with his eyes screwed shut. Deep wishes he was afforded the same luxury. Still, he slides his fingers into Homelander’s hair, just the way he likes it, firm but encouraging. 

“Just like that, darling,” he whispers, and other such bullshit praise that keeps the supe pliant and happy. He has no idea who broke Homelander or how it was done, but he does know that he’d probably benefit more from a therapist than he would benefit from a dick rammed down his throat. 

It’s weird, because it’s less like a blowjob and more like a child sucking on their pacifier. And yes, he knows that sounds absolutely fucking disgusting, and that’s because it _is._ It’s literally the least sexually arousing experience he’s ever had, and it’s a miracle that his cock even manages to fatten up with the way Homelander’s nursing at it like a goddamn tit. 

He doesn’t even think Homelander’s gay, he just likes having something in his mouth.

Like always, it feels like it goes on forever. He cradles Homelander’s face in one hand, stroking over his cheekbone, and the other is buried in his hair, messing it up from its perfect style. He says things like _good boy_ and _that’s it, sweetheart,_ and every time, the murderous psychopath makes a quiet, pleased sound that goes straight to his cock.

He's lost count of how many times they've done this. Starting from his first day on the job.

Deep used to think he could never, ever get it up for a man; but now he knows that if there’s suction on your dick for enough time, you’re going to come whether you like it or not. “Here it comes, baby,” he whispers, cringing at the sound of his own voice. His grip tightens in Homelander’s hair, and his hips stutter forward as he empties his load straight down the face of America’s throat.

The minutes after, when Homelander finishes kitten licking at his softening dick and slowly opens his eyes, are always the worst. The good mood drains out of him, and when he pulls away, the malice seeps back into the blue of his irises. It’s like Deep’s cum is a two second antidote to his ASPD and then as soon as it’s found its way to his stomach, he’s back to fucking sicko mode.

“What?” Homelander asks coldly, crudely grabbing his crotch. “You wanna try?” 

Deep tucks himself back into his pants and shakes his head. Homelander laughs. It’s completely devoid of humor, and he’s already shot off into the distance before Deep can say anything else.


End file.
